


sex, drugs, etc.

by amazeballs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bossy Twink Steve tho, Bucky is a horny mess lbr, Crack, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Top Steve Rogers, Winin' and no dinin', attempted humour, ok bucky is a mess in general in this, this has no real tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:49:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazeballs/pseuds/amazeballs
Summary: This is the story of how I, Steve Rogers (currently a very sexually pleased uni student); met Bucky Barnes; a depressed bitch with a great ass...Or: Bucky tries to rob Steve but he ain't havin' it.





	sex, drugs, etc.

**Author's Note:**

> ok this was super random and yeehaw ive posted this before but as a timmy chamalamalet and armie hammer fic but i think i was high on crack this whole summer. ALAS here iit is as a stucky fic uwu.
> 
> its based on an original story by me (and by based on i mean copy and pasted) called the romanticized alcoholism of the white middle class.
> 
> enjoy, ladz

_This is the story of how I, Steve Rogers (currently a very sexually pleased uni student); met Bucky Barnes; a depressed bitch with a great ass..._

On a horrible day in mid-July, 2017, Bucky walked into the gas station I was working at. He looked a little like a ghost. Pale skin and brown hair to his shoulders, squared jaw, thin lips and big grey eyes blinking behind a pair of thick glasses. He looked miserable.

“Hello,” I said. I wasn’t bothered, of course. I worked at a gas station located centrally, not some creepy ghost house on the highway, “what can I help you with?”

I distinctly remember scratching my neck as he got closer. Up close, Bucky looked even more melancholy.

“Give me your money,” Bucky said. His voice was about the same level of smoothness as a dried out fish in the Texas sunshine. Not that this story takes place in Texas. I’ve never even been there.

“What for?” I had asked, confused. The ghost with broomstick-legs didn’t seem like much of a robber. He wasn’t even armed. 

“Wine.”

“Wine? Like…”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

There had been awkward silence after that. Bucky was watching me while I had my eyes on the father outside trying to get his three kids in the car. I would have laughed had there not been a potential criminal on the other side of the counter.

“So? Money?” Bucky said, poking my shoulder. It wasn’t a very hard poke, but I bruised easily. I had the mark on my skin for a week.

“Pretty sure I should call the police.”

“Look, man-”

“Steve.”

“Don’t tell criminals your name, fucking idiot,” he scoffed. "God.”

“I have a name tag. But maybe you can’t read?”

Bucky almost smiled at that, I remember seeing his lips twitch. But maybe it wasn’t joy, maybe it was bloodlust. Hm.

“Whatever. Just give me like… 50 bucks.”

“For wine? What the hell are you gonna do with the wine? Party?”

“I’m selling it.”

“Wine is legal to buy in sto- oh. To teens?” I was so proud that I figured out his intentions that I started grinning. He, on the other hand, frowned.

“No.”

“No one is going to buy overpriced second-hand wine from a walking mop.”

Bucky looked very confused. Could he not see the resemblance between him and a mop? Tall and skinny with some wet noodle-looking ‘hair’ on top. Honestly, if a mop killed my family and I was to point that mop out in a lineup, I wouldn’t have seen the difference between it and Bucky. I’m not even overreacting that much.

“Just give me the money, please,” he groaned.

I looked at my wristwatch, shook my head. He groaned, again. It was one which meant lunch break for me. I walked around the counter and over to the fridge to grab a triangle sandwich and a diet coke, his eyes following me.

The door to the back room opened and Peggy came out. She looked at me, then Bucky.

“Can I help you?” Peggy asked.

“He wants to rob us,” I said, opening the plastic container to eat my sandwich, “50 bucks. To buy and sell wine.”

“To teenagers? That’s like, very illegal!” she said, hands in the air.

“So is robbing people,” Bucky pointed out.

“You’re asking for the money. You don’t even have a gun.” I said with my mouth full of food.

“Maybe he does,” Peggy said, pointing at the hands the 'robber' still had in his pockets, “maybe there’s a gun in there.”

“Yeah,” Bucky dragged out the vowels, making his tone sarcastic, “no.”

“You sort this out, I’m going out back.” I put the bottle of diet coke in the pocket of my blue hoodie. “Pegs? Throw me a pack.”

Peggy got behind the counter and threw me a pack of cigarettes. I thanked her and headed into the lunchroom, the sandwich in one hand and the cigs in the other. I heard Bucky following me.

“You can’t be back there,” Peggy said. She wasn’t making much effort to stop him.

I threw the sandwich onto the table as the door closed behind us, we were alone in the sparsely furnished lunchroom. Would he kill me? Creepy. A little bit hot, maybe.

“Can’t you bother Peggy?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, “she’ll ask so many questions.”

“And I won’t?” I asked him. I leaned against the kitchenette counter as I took one cigarette out of the pack and put it between my lips.

“You already have,” he explained. He looked at me closely. I’d pay more than a penny for his thoughts, knowing how the two of us turned out. “Are you even like, 15?”

“I’m 18, you dipshit.” I scoffed.

He wasn’t the first to tell me I looked young. I really did. I was short, skinny, and my faint freckles removed like four years. Plus, my inability to wear a decent outfit. Still, my high school art teacher wept when she saw me for the first time, said I looked like art and whatever. Blah blah.

“21,” Bucky said. As if I hadn’t already guessed.

“Obviously.” I pulled a lighter out of my back pocket and walked outside through the staff door. He was still following me.

The gas station was the biggest in town, which really doesn’t say much. The good thing about living in a small town is that, well, everything is small. Me and Bucky and Peggy and everyone else you haven’t met. We live in Wellton, Arizona. A brown shithole out in the desert.

“Obviously?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I nodded and proceeded to light my cigarette, “obviously. You’re looking to buy wine.”

“Hm. True, I suppose.” Bucky looked at me. He did that a lot. Watched me, studied me. It never made me feel uneasy. “You’re wearing a hoodie.”

“Yes?”

“It is… very hot.”

“I agree.”

“My name is Bucky.”

“Okay.”

I looked at him as I took a drag from my cigarette. I wasn’t sure what we would accomplish with all the staring. But I remember the feeling I got in my stomach as I noticed those blue fucking eyes had travelled to the cigarette. To my lips. The stare was hot and heavy. Is he into me, I recalled thinking. Is he into me? With the answers in hand, the question is dumb. Is he into me? Ha!

“Okay?” He said.

“Is this where I quote John Green?”

Bucky scoffed which made me laugh. I liked teasing him. He’s easy to upset. Like a baby, almost. Poke him just a teeny bit too hard and he’s a sobbing mess. On his knees, crying ‘mercy!’. Although, I do very very much like him on his knees.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Have fun.”

“Doing what?” 

“Doing whatever people like you do?”

“People like me?” Bucky took a step closer to me. I dropped the cigarette, smirked.

“People like you, Buck.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Without another word he turned around and left me alone, leaning against the back wall of a shitty gas station.

“Don’t get repetitive,” I called out to him, “don’t go boring on me!”

The next day, at 12:57, the door opened. Bucky was back. I smirked at him from behind the counter.

“Robin Hood is back,” I said, teasingly. He glared at me as he walked closer.

“Maybe I’m just an alcoholic,” he said. He put his hands on the counter and leaned on them. For the first time, I noticed how tall he actually was. Above six feet easily.

“An alcoholic doesn’t dress like a scholar and rob gas stations.” I snorted.

Bucky did dress like a scholar. On that particular day, and don’t ask me why I remember it so clearly, he wore a yellow sweater on top of a white dress shirt and brown pants. Brown pants which looked amazing on him. I can’t remember his shoes, but I bet they were fancy.

“The robbing isn’t going very well for me it would seem.” Said Bucky, glancing around.

“Neither is the alcoholism, darling.” I reached over and patted his shoulder as the clock on the wall stroke one. “Look at that! Break time!”

“Can’t you just give me the money?” He asked, eyes on me as I, just as the day before, grabbed a sandwich and a diet coke from the fridge as Peggy exited the backroom.

“Nope.” I said.

“A pack?” Peggy asked me as if she didn’t even notice the above six feet giant I was talking to.

“Nah. Have some left,” I said. I headed towards the backroom and as I expected, heard him follow me.

I went outside to smoke and he came with. Bucky leaned on the wall and stared at me as I lit one of the cigarettes and took a drag from it.

“You keep staring at me,” I said. “Why?”

He shrugged and extended his hand. I nodded towards my cigarette and he hummed. I handed it to him and leaned on the wall next to him.

“You wanna know who I sell to?” He asked then took one hell of a long drag from my cigarette.

“Hm, do I?” I smirked at him. Of course, I wanted to know. I was far too curious for my own good. My mother told me that. A lot.

“Yeah. You’re a curious lil’ twink.” He said. Bucky dropped the cig and put it out under one of the shoes I can’t remember.

“Who said I was a twink?” I asked, blinking innocently at him. Bucky just scoffed at me.

“Your length? You’re impossibly above three feet.”

“I’ll have you know I’m five four,” I said, crossing my arms. “And I am not a twink.”

Bucky looked at me. Again. I knew what was gonna happen. We were gonna make out and then maybe fuck in his car if he drove here or we’d go into the bathroom. I wonder if he knew before I did it. Before I stepped onto one of the plastic crates on the ground and kissed him harder than I’d ever kissed anyone before.

He muttered my name against my lips and his hands grabbed my hips. He wasn’t pulling away. Good. I grabbed that yellow sweater he was wearing and tugged on it, effectively getting him closer to me.

I was the one who broke the kiss in the end. And I swear I could hear a small whimper when I drew back.

“Why did you do that?” Bucky mumbled. His hands were still on my hips, my hands were still holding onto his shirt.

“Because you wanted me to,” I said nonchalantly. As if I hadn’t just kissed a guy that 24 hours earlier tried to rob me

“Who said I wanted to kiss you?”

“Your dick,” I smirked at him. When I stepped off the crate, I kept my hands on his sweatshirt. “Kiss me.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, and ‘beam me up Scotty’ is from Star Wars. Kiss me.”

Whether or not he understood my reference or not, I found out later because he cupped my face and kissed me. I kissed back and pushed him against the wall and fuck. This time I heard the guttural whimper that escaped his mouth. I thought I died right then and there.

We kept kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. He was grinding against me, craning his neck because of the difference in height between us and making small sounds every short second we pulled apart to inhale.

“I’m fucking whipped for you,” Bucky mumbled into the kiss.

“We just met,” I replied breathlessly, “you can’t be.”

“This isn’t the first time.” He said, pulling away a little more.

“I know,” I said, “but it’s the second.”

“No. For you, yeah. For me, no.”

I chuckled at him and left kisses on his neck. Still to this day I’m deeply in love with it. The pale skin that never tans, even though we live in Arizona and we spend most our days laying in the grass. And it’s smooth, always. No matter how many times I push and squeeze his neck, it stays smoother than a baby’s butt. It’s the cum, he usually says. Better than any body lotion.

“Have you been stalking me?” I asked, pressing a kiss right on his adam's apple.

“I’ve seen you. At parties.” He panted, squeezing my hips. “Since I returned here for summer, I’ve seen you everywhere.”

Once again I laughed at him. The fact that a grown man was so obsessed with was… thrilling. It was a new feeling. Mostly I was the one throwing myself onto every guy willing to take a step or two out of the closet. But not this time.

“Nice,” I said.

“Just nice?”

“Tell me who you sell to.”

“Mom’s.”

“What?”

“Soccer mom’s, as we say.”

I stopped kissing his neck and stared up at him. Was he selling wine to… mothers? To people who surely could buy their own wine. What?

“They’re older than you.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Why are you selling wine to women who peaked in life at 16 when they were dating Brad the quarterback and now at 35 have three kids named Jonathan, Brent and Oliver who all play dumb sports and dream of becoming the next Michael Jackson of soccer?”

“Kiss me again.”

“Just tell me why!” I tugged a little on his shirt and he whined.

“Please, Stevie! Kiss me.”

“And you were saying I’m the so called twink.”

“Kiss me.”

“Tell me.”

“Kiss me and I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me and I’ll kiss you.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So are you.”

“Meet me in Butterfield park tonight.”

“9 PM?”

“9,” Bucky said, almost whispering.

Just like yesterday he just slipped away, leaving me curious and this time very very aroused. Fuck. That guy was (and is, may I add) one hell of a kisser.

My parents didn’t have anything against me leaving the house at night. Especially not during summer break. They wanted me to have fun, to fit in. To party, essentially. And anyway, it’s not like they’d miss me much. They were probably just gonna sit on the couch, drink wine and watch some Netflix show.

I grabbed my bike from the garage and headed to Butterfield park which in reality wasn’t much of a park… Just grass with an artificial lake. Wellton wasn’t too good at like, keeping shit pretty. Therefore I couldn’t wait for fall to come. So I could leave Wellton. I’d graduated with relatively good grades and gotten into a relatively good school. Baylor University in Texas. Not Yale or Harvard but better than dying from heroin, lonely and unemployed when I'm 30.

Once I reached Butterfield, I jumped off my bike and let it wall on the grass. Bucky was sitting by the water, sipping on what seemed to be a bottle of wine. I chuckled at the sight and he turned around.

“Hello.” He said.

“Hey hey.” I smiled. I sat down next to him and grabbed the bottle.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah. Unexpected, right?”

I took a big swing of wine and then laid down, staring at the sky. Bucky didn’t join me.

“Where do you attend, you know, uni?” I asked him. He shrugged. “What? Nowhere?”

“Yale.”

“Yale?” I sat up, staring at him wide-eyed. “The Yale?”

“Yeah.”

“You shrugged! You can’t shrug on Yale! I’m… wow. That’s cool. Really cool.”

Bucky rubbed his neck, smiling coyly. He was embarrassed, maybe flattered.

“I’m better at living there than here.” He said. “I like sweaters and hot tea. Arizona isn’t really fit for that.”

“Tea is disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.” He snapped. Sore spot.

“Wanna make out?”

“Fuck,” he mumbled, “yes please.”

I put the wine bottle on the grass and pushed him down. Smirking, I straddled him and pressed our lips together in a kiss that was much more heated than the one we shared a few hours earlier. 

My hands were in his hair, tugging, twisting, pulling the sweetest of noises out of him. I’d never wanted to fuck anyone so badly.

“I need to fuck you,” I whispered into his mouth. His reply came in a moan and then we were kissing again.

“Not here.” He said.

“I’m beginning to think you cheated your way to Yale,” I muttered.

Bucky hit my shoulder, pushing me off. I laughed and laid next to him in the grass. It was nice but strange at the same time. I barely knew this guy. Just his name, where he studied and that he was at least bisexual. Maybe pan, but my bet was on 100% flaming homosexual.

“Bucky?” I said. He hummed next to me. “Why are you selling wine to soccer mom’s?”

“Because they’re desperate and because I don’t know.”

“Because you don’t know? Sure Yale is real? Not just a fever dream?” I asked, turning my head to look at him. I saw that he was smiling, eyes on the sky.

“They gather to sit in the Arizona heat and watch their useless children play bad soccer. They need their wine.”

“But there are stores.”

“I go to the games.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “And there’s a game this Saturday and I need money to buy wine.”

“You’re a Yale student. I bet you have 50 fucking dollars laying around. Maybe ‘tween the couch cushions?”

“Shut up about Yale.” Bucky groaned.

“Never,” I smirked.

He went quiet, eyes still on the sky. It surprised me. Usually, he was staring at me but there we were, laying in the grass and I was the one staring. Bucky had model potential. Something I realised quickly after I kissed him.

“It’s getting late.” He said after a while.

“My parents don’t care.” I shrugged.

“Mine do.” Bucky sat up. “So come on.”

**Author's Note:**

> thx for reading uWu
> 
> follow me on twitter i want 666 followers xoxo (this is where id use the emoji with stars for eyes) @captainbucket


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